


No Need For Reminders

by Astralda0602



Series: Newtmas One-Shots [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Hurt, Hurt Newt (Maze Runner), Hurt Thomas (Maze Runner), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minho Ships It, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-The Death Cure, The Death Cure, a little fluff, and thomas needs a hug too, mentions of newt's suicide attempt, newt is precious and i love him and he deserved better, newt needs a hug, newtmas - Freeform, so they hug each other, so we're saving him, the ending we deserved but didn't get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astralda0602/pseuds/Astralda0602
Summary: Newt had every intention to end it all right there and then. He couldn't bear the thought of swinging that knife at Thomas anymore. So he redirected it at himself. But Thomas was faster.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Series: Newtmas One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902850
Comments: 27
Kudos: 279





	No Need For Reminders

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was supposed to be working on a different fic, for a different fandom, and a completely different subject, but I got distracted and had some Newtmas feels, so I wrote this instead. This is my first TMR fic, so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> _**WARNING:** This fic contains mentions of Newt's suicide attempt! _

Thomas watched behind Gally and Minho as they sprinted out into the mayhem on the street. He wasn't sure what he should do anymore, for the first time in a while, he had no plan. But the heavy, rapid breathing coming from his friend sitting next to him brought Thomas back. At that moment, him not knowing what he should do - what he has to do – wasn't so true anymore. He knows what he must do, just not how to do it.

He has to save Newt. That's all that matters. Not how, not where, just that he has to save him. No matter what the cost. He couldn't lose him. Not Newt. Of all people out there, he couldn't lose Newt. Minho is in Gally's care now, and frankly, Thomas trusts him that he will make sure Minho makes it for his own sake, and not for Thomas. Gally and Minho had been friends, sort of. Three years in the Glade together had to have done something even to those two. But that meant that Newt was in Thomas's care. That meant that Minho and the others were counting on Thomas to bring him back safely. And Thomas swore he wouldn't disappoint.

“Newt?” he called out to the panting boy beside him, gently shaking his shoulder, “Newt? We gotta go, man! We have to try this. We gotta move. Let's get you up, come on. Let's go.” He moved to drape the blonde's arm over his shoulders, ready to carry him if he must, but Newt stopped him.

“No. No, Thomas,” Newt croaked out, pushing Thomas's arm away and grabbing onto the black strap of his necklace, pulling on it hard.

“No, Newt. Later. Later. Really gotta go.” Thomas attempted to reason, but it didn’t do him much good. “Come on.” He made another attempt to get Newt back up, but the other boy didn’t give him the chance to do so easily.

“Look, you gotta take this,” Newt said, ripping the necklace off his neck and holding it out to Thomas, who really didn’t have time for this. It was evident that Newt was getting worse by the second, and the chaos raging around them put them both at danger, and they really didn’t have that much cover.

“We gotta get you up, now.”

“No, just take it!” Newt screamed, blackening eyes boring into Thomas’s. He stilled for a moment, shocked by Newt’s sudden anger. He still hadn’t gotten used to the collected one to snap like that, and he hoped he never would have to.

Reaching up with a shaky hand, Thomas cupped his fist around Newt’s the two of them holding that blasted necklace together. Newt’s panting had slowed just briefly, and Thomas’s heart broke at the sight of his friend’s eyes. He seemed to have gotten that moment of clarity, and the pain and fear in them were simply too much for Thomas. Words could not describe the look he had in his eyes, and Thomas wanted it gone as soon as it had arrived. Never ever should someone as good and gentle as Newt have to bear such pain. Never.

“Please…” the blonde whispered, and Thomas could’ve sworn he saw a tear escape his eye, though he himself wasn’t much better. The sight of his best friend like that hurt him to no end. And the next words broke him. “Please, Tommy… Please…”

Thomas swallowed hard and shoved the necklace safely in his pocket. He could see it meant a lot to Newt that he took it, and Thomas would make damn sure it wasn’t lost, but right now, he didn’t have time for sentimentality. He needed to get Newt out of there.

“Alright,” he whispered to reassure him, as the clarity that was there a second ago slowly subsided, and Newt’s breathing brew raspier. “Alright. I need you to just give me everything you got,” he pleaded, wrapping his arm under Newt’s, ready to hoist him up, “You and me, right now. Let’s go. Come on.”

With all the might left in his body, Thomas pulled them both up, making sure Newt’s arm was wrapped securely around his neck, and he jogged out to the street as fast as he possibly could with Newt’s dragging feet slowing him down. He could tell the boy was giving it his best to help, but Thomas was practically carrying him by the time they crossed fifty yards. He supposed he should be grateful he got that much help from Newt.

Thomas knew it was all up to him now. He needed to do this. He had to be faster, stronger. He had to get Newt out of there. He simply had to.

They entered that damned white station through the broken glass on the door, Thomas practically supporting Newt’s entire weight. He knew they still had a ways to go, but he kept saying to Newt how they were almost there. The blonde’s occasional twitch or shiver didn’t help Thomas to carry him out in any way, but he knew that was just another sign that he simply couldn’t stop. They had to keep going.

But then Newt lost the little strength he had in himself, his limp body dragging both Thomas and himself to the ground. Thomas attempted to soften the blow in any way possible, ending up crouching over a gagging Newt, watching in horror as he rasped and gasped for breath.

“Newt, no, no, stay with me!” Thomas pleaded, but no reply came from his friend. Thomas knew he didn’t have long. He needed to keep them moving. He stepped over Newt’s arm and circled him around until he was behind him, his arms locked under Newt’s armpits, dragging him. Thomas grunted and begged Newt to stay with him under his breath as he dragged them on, but even he had no strength in his left. Not just that, but the fear of what was happening was paralyzing him on the spot.

Thomas fell backward but didn’t let go of Newt. He still attempted to drag them onwards through grunts and meaningless pushes of his legs, his arms still clutching Newt’s limp body close to his chest. And then a spark of hope ignited in him.

It wasn’t her voice that gave him hope, but the words she spoke over the intercom. “Thomas?” Teresa called out. “Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me. I know you have no reason to trust me. But I need you to come back.” What? “Thomas, you can save Newt.” What?! How? “There’s still time for him. There’s a reason Brenda isn’t sick anymore. It’s your blood. Do you understand?” No. “She isn’t sick because you cured her.”

Thomas’s mind raced. He could actually save Newt? He could actually cure him? And he had a way to all this time? Brenda still had some of the serum. If he could only get Newt to the Berg, he could live…

“She doesn’t have to be the only one,” Teresa continued over the speakers, “All you have to do is come back, and this will all finally be over. Please. Just come back to me. I know you’ll do the right-”

And then the connection cut off, but Thomas didn’t care. He had what he needed. He knew his friends over on the Berg had heard the announcement. Someone – Brenda, Gally, Minho, whoever – would for sure be coming to them with the serum. Thomas just had to help cut the distance. They could save Newt. They could actually save him. They just needed a little more time. Just a few more minutes, and it will all be over.

But then his hoped crushed when he heard shuffling behind him. Thomas wasn’t sure when he got up, but he slowly spun around, dreading the sight that for sure awaited him. And he wasn’t wrong.

Just a few feet away from Thomas, his greatest nightmare stood. Newt, the best guy Thomas had ever met, the gentlest, most caring person on the planet – he stood there, but it wasn’t him. His eyes were completely black. There was dark goo dripping from his mouth and down his chin. Sickly green veins climbed up his neck. And an animalistic growl echoed in his throat. This isn’t Thomas’s Newt. This was a Crank right before him.

“Newt?” Thomas called out, hoping beyond hope he could break through to the friend he knew was just under there. When there was no response, a tear slipped down Thomas’s cheek. “Newt…” he whispered. It was in a resigned way, like a prayer to whatever deity might be out there, begging for his friend. But he wasn’t there.

Newt roared suddenly, a cry so inhuman, Thomas had a hard time believing it actually came from Newt. In a second, he threw himself onto Thomas, who used all his might to deflect and dodge the attack, sending Newt to the ground behind him, hoping he hadn’t hurt him.

“Newt, it’s me,” Thomas said, backing away from the Crank that had gotten up and was running back at him a little too fast. This time, Thomas couldn’t dodge, and the momentum of Newt’s lunge sent them both tumbling to the ground, rolling on the floor in a pile. Thomas managed to free himself and push Newt away, scrambling to his feet.

Newt knelt on the ground on all four, panting, and breaking Thomas’s heart with his words. Another brief moment of clarity must have come over him, though Thomas doubted even a sane Newt would think he would grant him what he just asked of him. “Tommy. Kill me!” The usage of the nickname Thomas cherished so dearly with those words made Thomas want to throw up.

Newt looked up at him, his eyes pleading, but Thomas couldn’t even think of doing it. “Newt, I’m-” he never finished whatever he was about to say, as Newt had lunged at him again, sending them toppling over for the second time.

This time, Thomas couldn’t manage to wrestle him away, only attempt to hold him back by the arms, but Newt still bit at empty air like a rabid dog, sitting over Thomas. The green-blue goo seeping from his mouth dripped onto Thomas’s shirt as Newt’s jaws snapped open and shut.

“Newt, please!” Thomas cried out, what he thought would be a desperate, meaningless attempt to get to his friend as he attempted to push away the arm that got out of his grip and was pressing down on his airway. “Please…”

And then Newt stilled a little, still panting, his eyes searching for something. After a few too-long seconds, they focused on Thomas. “I’m sorry, To-” pant, “I’m sorry, Tommy…”

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispered, trying to hold onto his friend there, “It’s okay…”

But Thomas had misread what Newt said. He wasn’t apologizing for what he had done, but for what he was about to do. Time seemed to still around them as Newt reached down and pulled out the gun from Thomas’s thigh-strap, cocking it and pressing it to his temple. Terror washed over Thomas in a split second. He screamed and slapped the gun out of Newt’s hand just a heartbeat before it was too late. The gun skidded away, but Thomas’s protest at his friend’s attempt made him furious.

Newt let out that animalistic scream again, lashing out on Thomas once more, but Thomas managed to push him off before he landed a blow. Then Newt reached behind him and pulled out a very sharp steel knife, and sliced in Thomas’s direction. Thomas barely dodged it, but in that split second, Newt was back on top of him, knife held in both hands and rushing down towards Thomas’s chest. Just an inch before it collided, Thomas managed to block it, pouring the little strength and fight he had left in him in trying to keep the knife away from making contact with his skin. Thomas grunted as he struggled, but Newt was stronger. Thomas screamed as he felt the tip of the blade slice into the skin right below his left shoulder, digging into the flesh.

In one final rush of adrenaline, he managed to kick Newt in the side, sending him off himself and pulling the knife out of Thomas’s chest along the way. The bleeding wound stung, but Thomas barely felt it at the moment, feeling a rush of power in him. He punched Newt in the face, a weak attempt to knock him out, but he just got back on his feet.

Newt kept growling and snarling as he slashed at Thomas’s torso half a dozen times, never once making contact. Again, time seemed to slow as Thomas saw one final glint of Newt in his eyes and his body and muscles realized what was about to happen before his mind fully told him. Thomas grabbed Newt’s wrist just at the beginning of the arch it was making and redirected the knife.

A heartbeat later, he expected to feel tremendous pain, but there was none. He felt something warm soaking his shirt, and he heard the exhaled grunt he let out, but he didn’t feel it. He did, however, feel his legs buckle under him, leaving Newt to hold his entire weight up.

“Tommy…” Newt whispered, his voice devoid of that rage and animalistic ring. Thomas could’ve sworn he had just heard Newt – his Newt. He stepped back, and Thomas could faintly focus on his face. Terror seemed to wash over the Crank who was himself again at that moment, as their hands released the hilt of the blade now stuck in Thomas’s chest.

Then he was on the ground, Newt right there beside him, holding him tightly to himself. The blonde boy sat up, tears streaming down his face as he ran the fingers of his one hand over Thomas’s face, the other pressing on the wound, fruitlessly trying to stop the bleeding.

“Tommy, no no no no no…” Newt whispered, the sound echoing around them, “You bloody idiot, what the hell did you do?!”

“It’s okay…” Thomas weakly echoed the words he uttered just two minutes prior, his hand grasping Newt’s, squeezing it as tightly as possible.

“No, it’s bloody not!” Newt screamed, “Hold on, Tommy. Just hold on…” Newt begged, his tears dripping onto Thomas’s face, but Thomas smiled. He knew he wasn’t making it out, and that was okay. But he smiled because he got to spend his last moments with the person that mattered most to him. With Newt. Who, at the moment, seemed completely himself.

“Stop smiling you shank, and keep your eyes open, okay?” Newt commanded, his voice shaky, but Thomas couldn’t obey. His eyes were slipping closed against his will. “Tommy, look at me… Keep your eyes open! Tommy, bloody hell, look at me!” He heard Newt’s sobs from above him, and then he felt his arms wrap around him and pull him into a hug, and Thomas hated that he couldn’t reciprocate it.

“Don’t you leave me! Not like this… Please, Tommy, just hold on…” Newt cried into his neck, “Please, Tommy. Please… don’t die…”

Thomas forced his eyes to open, and the sight before him brought him so much joy, he wasn’t sure he had ever felt like it. Brenda and Minho were there, and Thomas could make out the cleat blue liquid in a vial in Brenda’s hand. 

Well, one thing went according to plan. Thomas bought them time. Newt could be saved.

Only if the two shanks would move already. “The serum…” he croaked out, “Give him-”

He didn’t have enough strength to finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to. Minho and Brenda were snapped out of their daze, and they sprinted into action. A teary, pale Mihno pried Newt away from Thomas, trashing and screaming. Thomas felt himself fall to the ground, grateful that his head was turned so he could see what was happening. 

For the last time in his life, Thomas smiled as he watched Brenda inject that serum into Newt’s arm. The screaming and trashing died down, and Newt fell unconscious, his healing process beginning already. Thomas had never felt such relief in his life. Newt would live. He would recover and live. Minho and Brenda would get him to the Berg and fly far away from the mess that was this world, to that safe heaven Vince had found. Newt would wake up, alive and healed, and he would live. He’d have Minho there, and Gally, and Frypan. They’d be okay. They’ll be alive.

And that’s all that mattered to Thomas.

But he still felt like there was something missing. He didn’t have time to ponder what it was much, so he just gathered as much strength as possible, and spoke the first thing on his lips without thinking. 

“I’m sorry… Tell him I’m-”

And then there was only darkness and an unfinished last sentence.

* * *

The first thing Newt felt when he woke up was pain. The darkness had not yet even cleared out of his mind, he was still in a daze, but he was lucid enough to recognize one thing.

The pain was different. And while it did hurt, it was a welcome alternative to what he had been enduring before. The burning in his veins, the dryness of his throat, the ringing in his ears, and the sting in his gut, it was all gone. All except the ringing in his ears actually, but it was much more bearable. The pain he felt wasn’t as excruciating. He didn’t feel like he was burning and freezing at the same time. His mind didn’t feel numb, and he wasn’t screaming inside it anymore. His body wasn’t stiff and heavy and aching, it was relaxed.

It wasn’t the Flare, it was just a headache. A feeling that might overcome someone who had been knocked out or had just fainted on their own. It was just that dull ache one felt when waking up after a long, _long_ time.

Newt ignored it, and slowly willed his eyes to open. It took him a few moments and a few attempts, but he finally managed it. The brightness surrounding him stung for a second, making him squint, but he had adjusted faster than he had in a long time. When his vision cleared, the blurriness gone, he had assessed his surroundings. 

His first thought was that he was dead. No way in hell was he back there. Or safe for that matter. Or sane. Or not in pain. Or shucking _alive_. No, he was clearly dead and in some sort of afterlife. He wasn’t sure if it was hell or heaven though, the Glade felt like both these days. There were times when he thought about it as a sanctuary, times when he hoped the Scorch and the City and WCKD were all just a bad dream, and he’d wake up in his cot or hammock, whichever he had snagged for the night, and he'd be back in the Glade, having breakfast with Tommy and Minho, going about their usual daily motions. But there were also times when the Glade was his very hell, times when he remembered how he felt in there. Trapped, confused, caged, afraid, desperate, hopeless. Times when he remembered what the purpose of the place was, and what all had gone down there. So in some twisted way, the Glade was his paradise and his damnation. He wondered what it would be when he walked out of the med-jack’s hut.

Only, he wasn’t in the med-jack’s hut. It took him a moment to register it, but he wasn’t actually in the hut. It might have appeared like it at first before his mind somewhat cleared up from his God knows how long unconscious state. It was built on the same principle – a simple hut made of driftwood and whatever scrapped material the Builders could find lying around. But Newt had been in the med-jack’s hut plenty of times before, both for check-ups on his leg, during his time as a Runner, whenever a Glader was injured, or when he was simply hanging out with Clint and Jeff. And the building he was in resembled that hut just in structure. The appliances were much different, the beds, the temperature, everything. He wasn’t actually in the Glade. As far as he knew.

That’s when the haze of his mind cleared up, and the memories came back. The Flare. He had remembered that before when he was still only waking up, but only now did it register with him what it meant. He had the Flare. His body was decomposing. His mind was deteriorating. He was in pain. He was trying to fight it off. He felt so angry all the time, itching to attack something. He had snapped at Thomas, pushing him into the wall and screaming about him caring more about that traitor Teresa than Minho.

Minho. They got to him. They saved him. They found Gally and he helped them infiltrate WCKD, and they found Minho. And Gally got him out. And Tommy stayed with Newt.

He stayed with Newt. He stayed with him while Newt was deteriorating, itching to hurt him, to kill him. To _kill_ Tommy. His Tommy. His friend. His best friend. He forced that bullet-necklace on him, the letter contained safely inside. He had every intention of ending himself, but he couldn’t even think straight, let alone make his body do something that radical. He remembered Thomas begging him to stay with him, remembered him practically carrying Newt through the streets and the chaos on them. He remembered collapsing, Thomas giving his best to drag him along. He remembered Teresa’s voice over the intercom, saying how Thomas was the cure. He remembered the hopeful look on Thomas’s face.

And he remembered attacking him. Newt remembered it through a fog, but distinctly enough for him to hate himself over it until he dies, and then to continue hating himself when he’s long dead. He remembered lunging at Tommy, throwing him to the ground, jabbing with his teeth, trying to bite him. He remembered Thomas calling out to him, his voice shaky, and his eyes hurt and afraid. Afraid of him. 

He remembered his mind clearing up just long enough to grab that gun strapped to Thomas’s thigh, and pressing it into his temple. He remembered Thomas knocking it out of his hand, and he remembered going insane with rage. Why couldn’t he just let him die?!

Then he pulled out that knife and slashed at Thomas. He thanked every and any god that might be out there that Tommy was fast enough and skilled enough to dodge all the blows, and that Newt himself was too gone to form a coherent thought, let alone land a good blow. 

And then there was just that tiny bit of clarity again, and he moved to shove the knife into himself. But Thomas, the stupid, yet brilliant Thomas, was too fast. He saw it and he reacted.

Newt remembered the blade sinking into Thomas. He remembered the sound that came when the knife pierced his skin, and blood soaked his shirt. He remembered Thomas grunting, and he remembered his legs giving in under him, and he remembered holding him up. And he remembered calling out his name, so clearly and finally himself.

_”Tommy…”_

And he remembered Thomas pulling back, the blade sticking out of his torso. And he remembered catching him and sinking to the floor with him. And he remembered pulling Thomas into his lap, clutching him to his chest as if hanging onto him for dear life. In a way, he had been doing just that. He remembered asking what Thomas had done, though he knew perfectly well, and he remembered Thomas grasping newt’s hand and smiling and telling him how it’s okay when it so clearly wasn’t. He remembered telling him to wipe that smile off, too painful for Newt to keep staring at it when Thomas was _dying_ in his arms because things _were not okay._ And he remembered begging him to stay with him, to keep his eyes open, to keep breathing, to _just hold on_. And he remembered Thomas’s eyes opening and closing, and he remembered his last words to him.

_“Don’t you leave me! Not like this… Please, Tommy, just hold on… Please, Tommy. Please… don’t die…”_

And he remembered Minho and Brenda prying him away from Thomas. And he remembered screaming and trashing and trying to get to Tommy because he couldn’t leave him. Not then. Not ever. He needed to be with Tommy, to make sure he was alright. 

And then he remembered the needle pierce his skin, and the darkness takes over. And the last thing he saw was Thomas, smiling faintly at him, both their eyes closing.

“Tommy…” the name left Newt’s lips before he even registered it. He needed to find Tommy. He needed to find him. He needed to see him awake and smiling and happy and joking around and _alive_. He needed to hug him and hold onto him, to tell him how sorry he was, to tell him how scared he was, to tell him so much he never before dared admit. He needed Thomas. _He needed Tommy._

So Newt threw off the white sheet covering him, ignored the pain shooting through his body, and the tiny wounds he had sustained during the battle. He ignored the chill that went down his spine, and he ignored the way his mind spun and he almost fell to the floor. He ignored the protests of his bad leg. He ignored all of that. He needed to find Tommy.

He was once again blinded when he stepped out of the hut. Using his hand to shield his eyes, he glanced around, not caring that everything was still a little blurry. He definitely wasn’t in the Glade. The sky was covered in clouds, if a little grey. There was a shoreline, a long beach, and dark water on one side, a giant ship floating on the surface. There was a forest to his right, and a stretch of huts before him. There were people milling about, doing this and that, and it reminded him so much of the Glade, but he didn’t care at the moment. He had to find Tommy.

Stumbling out of the hut, Newt wandered around. No one seemed to pay him any mind, as if they didn’t even notice him, but he examined all their faces thoroughly. None of them were Tommy. Or Minho. Or Frypan. Or Gally. Or Brenda. Or Jorge. 

“Hey!” a voice called out behind him, and Newt suspected it was directed at him. He spun around and recognized the girl. Harriet. “What are you doing out here?! You’re supposed to be resting!”

“I-I-I need to find them,” Newt croaked out, his voice raspy and quiet, “I have to find them.” He sounded desperate even to himself, and he must have done so to Harriet too because her strict expression had disappeared. Her eyes softened, and she sighed, gesturing for him to follow her. Newt did so without a word. His limp slowed him down more than usual, the pain more prominent than he had remembered it being, but he didn’t let that stop him.

And sooner than he would have expected, he had found the first of his friends. Harriet called out to Minho, and Newt had barely even had a second to see his friend properly before he was enveloped in that giant Minho-hug. Newt didn’t refrain from hugging back, holding one of his oldest friends tightly. He willed his tears away, he couldn’t cry. Not yet.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you shank, you hear me?” Minho pleaded, not letting go of Newt, “Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“I won’t, Minho, I won’t,” Newt assured him, “I swear, I won’t.”

When Minho pulled back, both boys were holding back tears, examining each other. Minho looked better than when Newt had last seen him, stronger, more rested. It was a refreshing sight really. And for a moment, Newt had been consumed by their reunion, he almost forgot about Tommy, who, for all he knew, could’ve been lying somewhere beneath rubble or have six feet of dirt covering him.

“Minho, the others, where are they?” Newt went straight to the point, “What happened?”

Minho looked a little pained when Newt had ended their moment so abruptly, but he must have understood what he was going through. “We survived. That’s what happened. We’ve made it to the Safe Haven. We’re home. You were infected by the Flare, and we feared you were past the Gone, but the cure worked. Brenda got it to you in time, and it worked. It knocked you out for well over a week, but it worked. You’re immune now, you shank, you’re cured.”

“And the others?” Newt repeated, not letting the relief of the news flood over him just yet.

“Brenda and Jorge are here and there. Gally’s off somewhere building something, Fry’s in the kitchen, big surprise. And…” Minho trailed off, looking down at the ground. He was frowning, his jaw clenched tightly, his expression pained and possibly even slightly afraid.

“Minho, where is he?” Newt begged, his voice shaky. Immediately, his mind went to the worst. He didn’t make it. But he refused to believe that until he had solid proof. “Minho, where’s Thomas?” he could feel himself on the verge of tears, barely holding them back now.

“He wanted me to tell you…” Minho gulped, “He said he was sorry.”

“For what?” Newt demanded.

“I don’t know. He never got to finish that sentence…”

_No…_

“When we found you, you were holding him. You were crying, but he wasn’t. The crazy shank was smiling. And he told us to give you the cure, to save you. He had a knife in his chest. Brenda and I barely held you down while she gave you that shuck cure, and you went right out. Thomas was still holding on, and he just told me to tell you he was sorry. Went out like a lightbulb. There was blood everywhere, so much 0f it. Brenda reacted fast. She slowed down the bleeding, and Gally had caught up just in time. I carried you back to the Berg, and he carried Thomas. We managed to stop the bleeding, but he hasn’t woken up yet.” Minho concluded his story. He was speaking fast, the quiver in his voice uncharacteristic for him.

But Newt felt just a bit of the weight lift off his chest. Thomas wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead.

“Where is he?” Newt demanded, trying to stay optimistic.

“In the med-hut, where you should be too,” Minho replied, “Come on shank, I’ll take you there.”

Both boys remained quiet on their track back to the building Newt had first woken up in. Minho lead him inside and into a small room, and closed the door behind them. Newt froze right where he stood. There he was, lying still. He was pale and looked too much like a corpse, and Newt would’ve believed he was dead had he not seen the slow, shallow, but steady rise and fall of his chest. 

Newt’s heart clenched. He had done this to him. He did this to Tommy. He _hurt_ him. He almost killed him. For all intents and purposes, he had killed him. _His Tommy._

“Like I said, he hasn’t woken up since the City,” Minho broke the deadly silence falling around them, “Clint says he can’t be certain, but he had done everything he could. He should wake up, we just don’t know when.” He looked pained when he looked back and Newt, but the blonde had only been able to stare at the boy lying motionless on the cot, his mouth hanging open. Minho sighed and patted Newt’s shoulder, “I’ll give you two a minute, they probably need me outside. I’ll tell Clint to come and check up on you later.” He gave Newt’s shoulder one last reassuring squeeze and left the room.

Newt just stood there for a little while longer, just staring. There was only one thought in his mind, _I did this._ He hurt Tommy. It’s his fault he was like that now. It was Newt’s fault his best friend was lying comatose in a bed now, bandages wrapping around his chest. _His fault._

Newt moved without even thinking about it. He slowly walked over to the bed, sitting shakily in a folding chair beside Thomas. His entire body was shaking, tears pooling in his eyes. He hated the sight before him. He hated it. Tommy should never, _never,_ look like that. He should always be laughing and smiling, goofing around and talking back to Minho, and doing stupid things that made Newt roll his eyes. He never should be confined to a bed, unknowing if he’ll ever wake up again.

Newt couldn’t take the sight before him any longer, so he turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Still, tears slipped down his cheeks. Newt let out a shaky breath, a sob, and opened his eyes again. His gaze fell onto the crate beside the bed, probably a makeshift bedside table. On it was a glass of water, and the bullet-necklace Newt had given Thomas. With his free hand, Newt gently picked it up and examined it. He knew the purpose of the necklace, but he supposed it had no purpose anymore. Its contents were supposed to be Newt’s goodbye to Thomas when he succumbed to the Flare. They don’t need it anymore. Newt can – no, will – say what he has to say when Thomas wakes up. He has to believe there will be a then, he simply won’t settle on if. If there’s an _if_ , then really, there is no point anymore. 

Newt opened the necklace, and let the folded paper slip out. He carefully put the two halves of the bullet back together and left them on the crate, and the letter was secured in Newt’s pocket, prepared to meet the first fire Newt sees. He gently took Thomas’s hand again, trying to ignore how stiff and cold and pale it was, and instead focus on how their hands seemed to fit together perfectly. He just hoped he’d get a day when Thomas’s hand will be grasping Newt’s own at the same time, instead of just lying limply there.

It was that thought that pushed Newt over the edge. He let the tears spill out of his eyes freely, let them roll down his cheeks and fall on the bed before him. He let the sobs fly out of his mouth without caring who might have heard. He let himself cry freely in God only knows how long, perhaps since that day in the Glade. He had felt pain that day when he climbed those walls. Both physical and emotional. He didn’t want to live. It all hurt. It all hurt so bad. But it didn’t even come close to what he felt sitting there beside an unmoving Thomas, unsure if he’ll ever get the chance to say everything he had been holding back on.

So he just said the three words that didn’t even come close to covering it all, but he had nothing else to help. There was nothing other than that that he could say, not until Thomas is up, talking and walking. Not until Newt knows he’s okay. Or as okay as they’ll ever be with everything they’ve been through. A part of them will always hurt over everything they’ve seen. But Newt would rather hurt with Thomas, then go on without him. That thought alone, of losing Thomas, made Newt want to climb a wall again, for the same purpose as on that day. It simply wasn’t acceptable, a world where he was alive and Tommy wasn’t.

So Newt said only those three words. The three words which he hoped would cover it all, but knew they didn’t even come close. But they were a start. They were all he had at the moment. Just those three words, and hope that he’ll get a chance to say everything else. Just those three words which he hoped would give Thomas enough of a push to wake up if he had heard him. Just those three words that he could cling onto for the moment until he had either s0mething more, or nothing at all. Just three words.

“I’m sorry, Tommy…”

* * *

Newt hadn’t moved from Thomas’s side in a full two weeks. Minho came and sat with him every day, whether it was for just an hour or all day varied depending on his duties. Gally came in every once in a while too. Frypan would bring Newt food during every meal. Brenda and Jorge came maybe once or twice to check up on both of them. Really, the only times Newt left Tommy’s bedside was to go and have a shower once every two or so days, and the one time Minho had come asking for gardening advice. He slept in that chair beside Thomas’s cot, not even once thinking of sleeping in a bed, even though he had been deprived of one for so long. No, he promised both himself and Thomas that he wasn’t leaving until the latter woke up.

Ironically, he had been asleep when Tommy finally came to. It was the dead of the night, and Newt and Minho were sitting on either side of Thomas’s bed, both drifting off. Minho was probably exhausted from the day, and Newt was just sleep-deprived from not having closed his eyes in two days. Luckily, he hadn’t fallen into a deep sleep, so even just a light chuckle woke him up.

“Morning, shank.” It came out in the form of a drowsy groan from Thomas, and the weight had finally lifted off Newt’s chest. He heard Thomas chuckle, and he couldn’t help but do the same. Tears started spilling out of his eyes again, but this time out of relief and happiness. Tommy would be alright. That’s all that matters.

“Not exactly bloody mornin’, is it?” Newt joked. Thomas nodded weakly.

“What happened?” Thomas asked, his words slurring together, “Did we make it out? Did the cure work? Newt, are you alright?”

“Alright there, calm your pants, shank,” Minho spoke up, probably awakened by their laughter moments prior, “We made it. The cure worked. It all worked out. We’re safe. But you’re still weak and need more rest. Why don’t you go back to sleep all nice and good, and we’ll give you all the deets in the morning.”

Thomas slurred out something akin to agreement and fell right back asleep. Newt didn’t mind, at least he knew Tommy was waking up this time. Sharing a look and a smile with Minho, Newt leaned back in his chair and fell right back asleep. He wasn’t sure when was the last time either of them had smiled like that, but it sure felt good. And they both fell asleep with smiles on their faces.

* * *

The next day, Newt found himself sitting beside Thomas on the beach. They’d woken up late that morning, and he and Minho had given Thomas a detailed rundown of everything that had happened while he was out. Thomas insisted on getting out of bed immediately and moving to check everything and everyone out, and it took some convincing, but Clint allowed it after he did a once-over of the patient. Thomas walked out of the hut with the help of Newt and Minho, because he was still just a tad bit too weak to support himself. 

They’d given him a tour of the Paradise, and Newt took note that this was his tour too, because other than the showers and the med-jack’s hut and the garden, he saw almost none of it. Minho had lead them over and across the whole camp they had up. Gally came to greet Thomas, their differences slowly being set aside. Jorge wished him a warm welcome, and Brenda gave him a tight hug. Frypan made a special dinner and celebration in honor of the last of their wounded finally waking up. The three mighty Gladers spent the day together just enjoying being alive.

It was at sunset that Thomas and Newt finally addressed the giant elephant between them, the talk both of them were avoiding for the time being. They let themselves enjoy the day, but they couldn’t forever ignore what had happened between them.

Surprisingly, as unwilling as he was to talk about it, Newt needed to know some things, so it was him who broke the tense silence between the two, “Why’d you do it, Tommy?” he saw Thomas turn to look at him in the peripheral of his vision, but Newt held his gaze on the ground and horizon before them. “Why’d you take that knife? Why did you do that?”

Thomas kept silent for a moment too long, and his sigh came out loud after all that silence. “Because if I hadn’t, you would have.” That was all explanation the brunette had offered.

“So what?” Newt protested, finally turning to look at Thomas to find that their positions had switched – it was Thomas now who was avoiding eye contact. “Tommy, I was gonna bloody die anyway! It had a purpose, what I was about to do! You’d have lived!”

“Well I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Thomas countered, if a little aggressively, “I’m alive.”

“Yeah, you are, but it took you three weeks to wake up!” Newt argued, “Tommy, I’ve been sitting beside you for two weeks, wondering if you’ll ever wake up! And all I could think was about how what had happened to you was on me! Tommy, that knife was for me! Do you have any idea how I felt just sitting there?!”

“Oh no, you don’t get to ask me that!” Thomas chuckled humorlessly, looking back out to the water, “You don’t get to play that card, Newt.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know how I felt watching the person I care about most beg me to kill them!” Thomas snapped, “Newt, you held a gun to your head right in front of me! You tried to stab yourself! _You told me to kill you!_ Do you have any idea what _that_ is like?”

“And did it ever occur to you why I asked that?!” Newt hissed, “Why do you think I begged for death? Watching something like that must have been horrible, Thomas, but do you have any idea what it was like for me?!”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas questioned, if a little softer now, but it did nothing to calm Newt.

“Thomas, I was _dying_! I was in pain! And I knew I was changing” Newt shouted, shooting up and pacing on the sandy beach, “Thomas, I was turning into a bloody Crank! I knew that it meant that sooner or later, I’d try to kill someone. That I would try to kill you! And that wasn’t acceptable, Thomas! I promised myself that I would never let myself hurt you! But I did! I needed to know we saved Minho, and I needed to know you two were safe! By that time, I was far too gone, Thomas! There was no out, other than that knife! And I’d take a thousand knives and die a thousand bloody times before I let myself hurt you!”

Thomas stared at him for a few moments, hurt reflected in his eyes. Newt knew snapping at him like that wasn’t fair, but he had to burst eventually. He worried that his anger at the moment was the Flare resurfacing, or some permanent side-effect. Maybe it was just regular anger, something everyone feels from time to time. Newt couldn’t exactly remember the last time he let himself get angry, it didn’t accomplish anything, but he let himself be angry now. He needed to vent, and he needed to let it all out.

Finally, Thomas broke the silence, “Newt, I get that. I mean, I don’t. I don’t know what you went through, and I never will. I don’t know the pain you felt. But I understand what you’re saying. But I also know my pain. And Newt, nothing had ever hurt me more than when you asked me to kill you. I couldn’t do it. So when you tried to do it yourself, I had to do something…”

“And what if you hadn’t woken up?” Newt demanded, his voice quieter now than it had been before, so much more vulnerable and weak. “What if you had taken that knife and died right there in my arms? What then, Tommy? What was I supposed to do? Either way, I would’ve killed you. I can’t live with that.”

“You don’t have to,” Thomas whispered, walking over and taking Newt’s hands in his own. “None of that happened. You didn’t lose your mind. I didn’t die. You didn’t kill me. We’re alive. We’re safe. It’s over. And besides, Newt, just like you said, I’d take a thousand knives and die a thousand times before I let you get hurt anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” Newt protested weakly.

“But I mean it. Newt, what would my life be without you in it? Nothing. Nothing at all,” Thomas whispered, “And I’d rather I’d died there than live here without you. But none of that happened. We were wounded, but we’ll heal. The Flare is gone. This will be gone in a bit too,” he said, pointing to his chest, “We’ll heal. And we’ll never have to deal with losing each other like that ever again. Because that part of our lives is over. We’re _free._ No more WCKD. No more Maze, no more Scorch, no more of that City. That’s all behind us. _It’s over_.”

Newt let out a shaky breath, finding reason in Thomas’s words. “Just…” he began, “Just promise me you’ll never do something like that again. No matter what course our lives take from now, promise me you’ll never do something like that again?”

“Only if you promise too,” Thomas held out his pinky with a smirk. Newt smiled and laced his pinky with Thomas’s, both of them making that promise.

They sat back down on the sand, overlooking the last rays of light as they reflected off the dark surface of the water. The silence around them was much less tense now, as were both of them. Their hands remained laced together as they overlooked the horizon.

But of course, Thomas’s big mouth had to go and ruin the moment. Though it wasn’t entirely ruined, something much better followed. 

“Hey Newt?” he called out, picking up the bullet-necklace hanging around his neck, “What is this?”

Newt swallowed hard, contemplating how much he should say. But the words seemed to tumble out on their own. “It’s uh… It’s just a trinket, really. I’ve been carrying it around ever since that day Minho got taken. I suppose that, in a way, it was a reminder of why we were fighting. For friends, lost, present, dead, or alive.”

“Why’d you give it to me?” Thomas questioned.

“I guess I just wanted to give you something to remember me by after I was gone,” Newt shrugged, trying to play it off casually. It wasn’t a complete lie, what he said. It was the essence of the necklace’s purpose, with just a twist in the original plan.

“You think I would’ve forgotten you?” Thomas spoke quietly, and Newt could’ve sworn he heard hurt and pain in his voice.

“Well, to be fair, Tommy, we don’t remember most of our lives,” Newt attempted for a joke, but Thomas only huffed. So Newt confessed, “I don’t know. I guess it was more of a reminder really. Something of mine that you could keep with you. So I could follow you anywhere. I suppose that was the original idea – to give you something to remind you that I would follow you wherever you went. I knew I would since that day you ran into the Maze for the first time. And I don’t regret it. I wouldn’t change a thing that’s happened. Sure, if I could, I’d save some more people, but I would still follow where you went. And I guess I wanted to be able to follow you after I was gone.”

Newt paused, looking down at the ground, suddenly very aware of Thomas’s intense gaze on him. “It’s silly, really, but I thought I wouldn’t make it and I wanted to be sure-”

“Do you really mean that?” Thomas interrupted, his voice low and soft and so sincere it hurt. Newt turned to look at him, surprised that he’d think otherwise. But when he saw just how exposed Thomas was in his eyes, Newt melted.

“Of course I do,” he replied.

And that must have been the happiest moment Newt had had in years. The smile that appeared on Thomas’s face was so wide, so bright, so genuine, Newt couldn’t help but grin too. It was a smile that said a thousand words, even though he wasn’t sure what Thomas was saying. But he knew he loved that smile, and he longed to see it every day that followed.

“I guess I won’t need a reminder now,” Thomas chuckled finally, looking out to the horizon once more. Newt raised an eyebrow in question, and when Thomas turned back to look at him, the brunette smiles shyly, “I’ll have you by my side. Right?” he sounded so hopeful, Newt couldn’t help but grin again. He wasn’t sure when was the last time he had smiled that much, but he sure did love it.

Newt wasn’t really sure where he had found the courage, but something clicked in him, and a second later, his lips were on Thomas’s. It took the other boy a second to respond, and Newt panicked inside, but then the two melted into the kiss, lips moving in sync. It was slow, but exhilarating. It was sweet, but also passionate. It was everything. And Newt loved every long second of it, the feeling he couldn’t quite describe forever etched into his memory.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads remained touching, noses gently brushing against one another. Suddenly, everything Newt wanted to say to Thomas was gone, all of it fitted in the one word that left his mouth. One word that encompassed all of it.

“Always.”

Thomas chuckled and their lips met once more, and the kiss was just as perfect as the first one. Newt completely let go, letting himself melt at the moment, giving himself to the kiss. All the hardships in the span of his memory were momentarily forgotten. All the bad days in the Glade. The viciousness of the Scorch. The dangers of the City. All of that vanished from his mind. There were just Thomas and Newt, and the best moment of Newt’s life. 

So of course, that’s when somewhere in the distance, he heard Minho shout out, “Shuckin finally!” making both Newt and Thomas and a good portion of the survivors laugh, but Newt didn’t care. If anything, it made the moment all that more amazing, knowing their friend was there with them, and happy for them. But in the end, when the sun had long set and the moon was shining over the water, it was just Newt and Thomas lying in each other’s arms, enjoying the peace. And it was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that's that! I hope you liked it! It was supposed to end with just Newt saying always, but I needed to add that Minho line. 
> 
> Anyway, like I said, this is my first TMR fic, hopefully the first of many. I have some ideas, but honestly, I have so many stories planned out for a bunch of different fandoms, I guess we'll have to wait and see what comes next.
> 
> I'm putting this in a series because I plan on writing more TMR/Newtmas one-shots, so we'll have them all in one place. If there's anything you'd like to see in this series, feel free to contact me on _[my Tumblr blog](https://astralda0602.tumblr.com/)_. I post updates about my works there, as well as take requests and prompts and a whole bunch of stuff.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for giving this little story a go! I hope you enjoyed it! Feedback is welcome and much appreciated! Once more, thank you for stopping by! ❤️


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